To Binge
by hangover.prince
Summary: Pris is a diner waitress fresh out of college, looking for work to make ends meet. After finding a job as a secretary, she finds herself working the front desk at Kong Studios. With next to no phone calls to answer, Pris busies herself by getting to know her employers & getting in all sorts of trouble. Set in between phases 2 & 3, after the release of Demon Days.


**Ch 1: Life is awesome, I confess.**

A fly flew silently through the diner, it's wings making no noise against the static of the radio honing in and out on the windowsill. A young lady sat at the bar, flipping through a newspaper and idly chewing on the end of a pen. Her leg bounced up and down, clad in thigh high stockings. She wore a black skirt and white top, her work uniform. The stockings and choice of red high tops were optional.

"Ay, Pris, ya gonna head home? There's no one here, might as well lock er up." A stocky lady called from the kitchen of the diner.

"Yeah, in a minute. I wanna finish looking at these." The girl that had been called Pris said, barely picking her head up.

"Can ya do it at home?" The lady shouted in response.

"Nah, I'll fall asleep once I walk into the apartment. " she made some marks one the paper, circling some want add. Pris hopped down from her perch on the bar stool, grabbing the paper with her.

"What're ya looking fer anyways, dear?" The lady trotted out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish rag.

"More jobs." Pris sighed longingly. "I'm broke, ya know."

"This job ain't good enough?"

"Nah, I mean, I like it.. But my savings are running low and I've still got to pay off my student loans, it's really all too much." She looked down at the paper dejectedly.

"Huh. Did ya go to school 'ere or back in the U.S.?" The lady leaned against the counter facing Pris.

"Back home. I finished high school with an early admit, and went to a SUNY college before booking it outta there."

"I have no idea what ya just said."

"State University of New York? It's a state college, I went on a partial scholarship for art." Pris drawled on, loving to be able to talk about herself, considering no one here bothered to ask.

"Hm." The lady pushed herself off the counter, shaking out the dishrag to go clean up the tables.

"I'll be going then, Marge." Pris said dismissively. She walked behind the counter to grab her purse, then headed for the door.

"Awright dear, I'll lock up." Marge called to her from one of the far tables she was scrubbing away at.

"Night!" Pris left the little diner, hopeful that she'd find another, better paying job, or at least another part time one. It was an easy decision to leave the States for somewhere better, more free. Pris had refused to stay in the little backwards hick town of upstate New York, it was too small. The neighbors weren't quirky and kind, they were hive minded, racist, and gun loving freak-os. She wanted to get away and find better opportunities. Her mother only cared that she at least go through with four years of college, and then she didn't give a rats ass about where Pris went off to. So she did just that, and here she was, finding better opportunities in a small diner, living in Stoke-on-Trent. Not all dreams are fulfilled so nicely, huh.

Once back at her apartment, Pris practically fell asleep at her kitchen counter while making toast. The toast ended up a charred brick upon Pris's lack of attention. After a few muttered swears, she threw the toast away and headed for bed. She always worked late nights like this, it was already quarter to eleven. Not that anyone showed up at the diner that late, let alone during the day at all.

Pris let her curvy body flop down on the mattress, stripped of it's confining uniform. She wasn't a chunky girl, but she wasn't a supermodel either. Short and soft, her mother always said. She lets her short cherry red hair unfurl on the her pillow. It felt greasy, but it was too late to shower, thought Pris. Plus, it's especially funny to watch the neighbors get all antsy without much hot water. They always wondered who used it all up in their household, neglecting to notice that they shared hot water with other neighbors. Pris laughed half heartedly at the thought, ignoring the grimy feeling on her feet that she hated wearing like socks before bed. Sleep was the only thought that followed.

* * *

"I thought you'd let me stay?" Coughed Pris, shaken and crying on the floor. "Please, let me stay." She rummaged through the purse to her side, pulling out citizenship papers, her old passport, birth certificates, a pair of drivers licenses, old and new. "Look, I've... I've got papers! You have to let me stay, I'm a citizen, I'm a British citizen now." She choked on her words as they fell from her lips.

"Ma'am, you need to leave. You need to go back to New York." A towering black mass before her said.

"I don't want to go back! I don't want to! I hate it there, the economy is shit, the people are shit... Please, send me to Tokyo, or to Russia for all I care, anywhere but home." The red headed girl begged at the masses' feet.

"Sorry lady, back to the states."

"I'm not going back! You're gonna have to kill me before you send me back there!" She yelled.

"Alright then." The mass lifted a great black arm, holding something metallic, its very presence radiating a bitter cold. The sight of it made Pris's stomach turn, the checkered tiles that she sat on twisting around her. A gun, she thought. It's a gun.

She stared at the figure, blinking tears from her eyes. Between each bat of the eyelid, the figure became recognizable. Pris looked away with clenched teeth. The smooth click of the gun being locked into place drew her attention once more, and just as Pris got one last look, her father pulled the trigger and -

"AAAAHHGHHH!" Pris jolted upright, her screams barely drowning out the sound of the blasted alarm clock. Cold sweat condensed on the back of her neck as she clutched the comforter. Groggily, she released her grip on the soft fabric to slam a fist down on the thing.

"Ughhhhhhhbbblllughh.." She made a series of distressed moans and rolled out of bed. The clock read six thirty, not Pris's favorite kind of morning. She resented having to get up early, all her life in grade school Pris would be dragged out of bed against her will at five a.m. to catch the bus.

Pris meandered to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. The floor was cold under her bare feet, which felt disgusting. The smell of coffee grounds filled the apartment, mixing with the constant aroma of bleach and cleaner. When Pris wasn't working for spare change, she was cleaning. Being clean was her solace, showers were her escape. She didn't like her hair feeling grimy, nor her feet. It was a constant battle to keep a clean smell in the place too, most of the neighbors smoked right outside her door.

The cold metal sent prickles through Pris's hand as she went to turn the shower on. Quickly though, the small space filled with steam as the water turned her vibrant hair a deeper shade. The small girl's features softened, her rosy cheeks damp from the water dripping off her bangs onto her face. She stood there for a moment, letting the hot droplets work their magic on her taught muscles.  
Pris was snapped out of her trance by the monotone beeping sound coming from the alarm clock. The piercing noise filled the apartment, roaring over the running water.

"DAMN." Pris threw her head back and yelled loud enough to for plenty of her neighbors to hear.  
An hour later, Pris was running as fast as her legs would allow down the apartment building stairs. Her purse laden with pins, keychains, and charms slapped against her hip as she sprinted past the shattered remains of an alarm clock two stories down from her residence.

* * *

"I see you've never had a real job..." The white haired lady sitting across from Pris said. Her features were permanently pinched up into a scowl.

"Oh no, no, look here," Pris practically climbed over the desk between the two to point at the papers the lady clutched. "I've worked plenty of jobs. Waiting tables, uh, babysitting...Cashier, bank teller... I've delivered mail before, I've worked at plenty of restaurants. I'm working at the diner in Stoke right now even." Pris sat back down, eagerly clasping her hands in her lap. A smile creeped onto her glossy pink lips. "Buuuuut," she sang, "I won't have to work there anymore if I get the job here! I'll be a fully devoted and well-rounded...secretary." Pris looked hopefully at the stale lady, trying as hard as she could to get her on her side.

"Hmph.." She pursed her lips caked with dry lipstick, glancing over the papers through dust-spotted spectacles. "I could tell you work there." She said looking up from the documents to Pris's outfit.

"Oh, really? Do you eat there?" Pris smiled, maybe she could get brownie points for being a good hostess.

"Sometimes."

"How's the food?"

"Distasteful." She spat.

"Oh.." Pris's smile disappeared. "I.. I don't work the kitchen... Uh, I'm just a waitress." She tried to redeem herself.

"Hmm." The lady looked once more at the papers in front of her. Flies buzzed like satellites around her perm, never quite leaving her presence and the musty smell that followed her. A name tag on her pink moth-eaten blouse read "Janice."

"Well," She licked her lips. "I don't see why you wouldn't qualify for the job.." Janice looked up at Pris once more. "Are you good with numbers?"

"Yes, yeah. I took AP calculus in high school."

Janice scoffed, but some form of a smile came across her face.

"I'll see what I can do. I don't think you'll get a job in our main offices, not with your hooligan history." Pris frowned at her dictation, but not for too long. "But one of our off-site positions will do just as fine, yes?"

"Oh yes yes yes yes! Thank you, Miss. I could hug you right now!" Pris shot from her chair in victory. Food and rent was secured for the next few months, and it was good enough for Pris.

"I suggest that you refrain from doing so." Janice scrawled out information on a yellow legal pad as she spoke. Once finished she ripped it off and handed it to Pris. "May I keep your records?"

"Of course, whatever you need to do. Thank you."

"Mmhm." Janice waved the ecstatic girl away, sending her off skipping.

Pris had secured a job, she really didn't care what it was, it was money. Her previous hopes of moving to a great and shiny London and freelance art were still always in the back of her optimistic little mind. Maybe she could still freelance, once she had time and money, just from Stoke-on-Trent. For now, she was happy to be independent.

After catching the bus back to her apartment, Pris decided to give the yellow note Janice had handed her a closer look. It contained the accounting company's name and general information, Janice's office number, and more about where she was going to be sent to work. Janice wrote, she was to go to such and such address tomorrow at eight in the morning for an orientation were she'd be working as a secretary. Then, her hours could be assessed. It wasn't one of their big commercial businesses, but it would do. Janice had made a side note on the paper, saying "don't quit your day job." Pris hoped that was sarcasm, though Janice wasn't the type to be sarcastic. She made a mental note to not entirely stop working at the diner, poor Marge would be left there with Garbage Joe, the trashy thirty-something that always failed to wash his work clothes.

Pris had made a point to get today off, and she decided to make the best of it. Pris hooked her beat up IPod up to the stereo. They were both fairly used, something she invested in during college. She put it on shuffle, swinging her hips to the gauzy music that flowed from the grey speakers. She picked up her bedroom that had been haphazardly left that morning, and watered the succulent plants she kept by the window. Once she finished with her normal tasks, she changed out of her skirt and leather jacket, swapping it out for sweats and tee. Pris lay on her bed, magazines spread out before her. She sat listening to the 60's electro swing music for hours on end, only getting up to order Chinese. The magazines were ravished through, items circled, pages ripped and dog-eared. She even pulled out a few realtor books to look at apartments somewhere nicer.

Pris liked two things in life; cleaning, and thinking about things she knew would be ridiculous to have. As long as she could dream, she had motivation to work for something better. Pris never set one goal, she built a staircase of them leading up to the great indefinite. 

Pris stood before a large, run down building that didn't look the part of somewhere needing a secretary. The trek up to the building was enough to almost kill her, but she made it, paper clutched in hand. She tugged her jacket around her closer. It was the same leather one from yesterday, same outfit. She didn't bother to pick something else out, Christ, she only had four outfits. It was clean enough, didn't get dirty, only wore it for an hour, thought Pris indignantly.  
Finally having caught her breath, Pris readied to knock on the door. Before she could even make contact, the lock clicked, and the door flew open sending her reeling back.

"You the new desk lady?" A scraggly looking man stood in the doorway, his pallor green and sickly. Pris involuntarily looked him down, dark pants, heeled boots. His hair was dark, raven colored even, bangs hanging messily down to his eyes.

"Y-yes, I'm Pris." She swallowed hard, shakily holding out her hand. At first she thought she had the wrong address, but it must really be the place.

"Eh. Get in, before the zombies getcha'." The man ushered her in, giving a look across the graveyard Pris had to pass through earlier.

"E-excuse me, if you don't mind me asking but, what exactly do you do around here? What sort of company do you run? Or work for.." Pris asked curiously, one glance around the room she entered have away that it wasn't any normal offices building. Papers and boxes littered the lobby, all sorts of wonky decorations adorned the walls and every available surface. Aside from the clutter, the place could use a good cleaning. Pris cringed, she might as well have worked as a cleaning lady.

The man scoffed. "M'names' Murdoc, as in Niccals. This, is my kingdom, li'ttah lady. It's a studio, an HQ for all our collaborators, and our humble abode." He held his arms out from his sides, gesturing to the room. Then he pointed to a desk by the wall. "There's were yer gonna be workin'."

"Alright." She swallowed again. "What, uh, hours were you thinking?"

"Feh, stupid American girl. You'll work by my hours, show up quarter to eight ev'y morning, and you'll leave when I say. What's the company's rates I gotcha from?" He raised his eyebrows at Pris, who was still in shock from this man's blunt orders. She was sure she's barely get to make work at the diner any more.

"Uh, Janice-the uh, company lady, she wrote it one here uhm," Pris stammered, unfolding the paper she hadn't realized she's been holding into so tightly. It was damp from the sweat pooling in the palms. "Uh, anywhere from minimum wage to twenty pounds?"

"Yer what, eighteen?" He have her a wry eye.

"Twenty three, actually."

Murdoc's eyes widened a hair in surprise. "Awright, chickie, we'll start ya on minimum wage then, eh?" He said it like it was a question, but Pris figured it was more of a statement. That was about what she worked for at the diner, and she had been expecting more. But this was...good for now.

"You can start ta'day, if ya'd like. And by 'if ya'd like,' I mean yer startin." He jabbed a finger at Pris as he began swaggering off. She clutched her purse and the paper tight to her stomach.

"W-wait, what exactly do you want me to do?" Pris called down the corridor.

"Don't fuckin know." He yelled back.

"Great." She relaxed her muscles dejectedly.

Pris slunk over to the cluttered desk. She began a list for herself then, of things she'd do aside from answer phone calls, look over mail, and whatever else it was secretaries do. She made a note to look that up as well. Pris began by cleaning off the desk. Working from one end to the next, she uncovered plenty of unopened mail and other important looking documents. Pris made piles, organizing everything. She found an empty cardboard bow, shoving and nicknacks and other utterly useless things in it. After about an hour of sorting and tossing yellowing paper, she finally managed to clear to the surface of the cold metal.

Pris let out a victorious "Yes!" As she dusted the thing off. Then, she rearranged an old desktop calendar, a mason jar filled with pens and pencils, and other office-like utensils around the desk, making a proper work place. She flitted through the papers and letters once more, neatly setting them in piles on one end of the desk. She found post-it notes, using them to label each of the piles: Opened mail, Un-opened mail, documents, other.

After one last dusting with the thin tissues she found, Pris finally plopped her quaint butt on the office chair, exhausted.

"-he wou'n't let me play the banjo, I don' get why he aw'ways does that, he's so angry all the time." A man's voice traveled down one of the hallways, calling Pris to attention.

"That's Murdoc for you, D." A younger girl's voice came with it.

As the pair rounded the corner, Pris suddenly panicked at the thought of these people finding a stranger in their house. But the two evidently didn't mind, as their faces fell on her without suspicion or scrutiny.

"Oi, looks like 'e finally got 'nother desk lady!" The tall, blue haired man said to the shorter girl, nudging at her shoulder. She tipped a little from the gesture, her face void of expression. The girl ducked her purple hued head, then looked back up smiling.

"Hi!" She called, trotting over to Pris. "I'm Noodle." The girl was quick with introductions, bowing before Pris.

"I'm Pris." She said shakily, gaining her reassurance. "I'm, uh, yeah, the new secretary."

"At's nice." The lanky man said as he walked toward the girls. "Name's Stuart. Everyone calls me 2D, though." He didn't bother to offer a hand. Pris looked at him wildly, a bit put off by his appearance. From his "Hello Kinky" shirt, to the messy blue hair, to his holes for eyes, or were they eyes that looked like holes. Contacts, Maybe? 2D must have picked up on her confusion.

"Hair's natural, luv. An' my eyes - eigh' ball fractures. Lovely, huh." He shrugged. Pris giggled a bit at his joke, but not too much as to be rude.

"Mine's uh, not natural." She ran a hand through her own lofty red locks.

"'Is nice," he smiled a toothy grin.

"Thanks." Pris felt her cheeks go pink. She almost drew her hand to her face to hide it, she didn't mean to blush. It was nice to hear a compliment for a change, it didn't have to be sexual or really genuine, just kind. "Uhm, I meant to ask the other guy, Murdoc, if there was anything in specific he wanted my to busy myself with. Uh.." Pris looked around the desk. "I already cleaned here, and there's all these papers and letters he might want to check out."

"You're funny." Noodle said curtly. "Muds won't care about the papers, Pris."

2D chuckled beside her. "Yeah, he probly only hired ya so he cou' get a lovely bed buggie."

Pris flushed deep red, her face almost matching her hair. This time she did put her hands to her mouth, eyes wide and darting about frantically. She removed her soft hands for a moment to let out a small "Oh no." Before quickly clamping them back on.

"Nice, D." Noodle giggled. "Sorry to scare you, Pris-san. I doubt he's that dastardly." She punched 2D in the stomach. "We're just joking. But he could care less about the bills and fanfare. Murdoc just doesn't want to answer the phone."

"Yeah, she's right luv." 2D chimed in with his scraggly voice.

"Oh.." Pris looked away shamefully. All her work had been for nothing. At least it was clean, she thought.

"Don't look so sad, shimai." Noodle looked at Pris with interest. "We'll be around, and if you ever get fed up with Muds, I'll kick his ass." She held up her arms in a defensive stance. She was a sweetheart, thought Pris. A little foreword, but kind and funny.

"Thanks, Noodle."

"Awright, Noods, we bettah get along. Murdoc wanted us in the booth a-s-a-p, an' we don' wanna make 'im mad." 2D cringed at the thought of Murdoc getting pissed at them. "Nice ta meet ya, Pris." He waved as he tapped Noodle along.

"Nice meeting you too." She said to them as they left through one of the many hallways. Huh, thought Pris, they really are some sort of wacked out band. She couldn't imagine any of them other than Noodle singing, let alone Murdoc belching out lyrics. Hell, they had to be pretty well known to have a studio this sized. Although the property wasn't all that admirable, but still.

Pris flopped back into the uneasy chair, looking at the ceiling. No phone calls yet. No visitors, either. She wondered if there would be any at all, or if anyone would dare make their way up through the bone yard at the bottom of the hill. Life was weird, she thought. How on earth do you end up in a band, taking residence in Essex, with that set of faces? A no-eyed, blue-haired kid with a cockney accent, a small Japanese girl, and that asshole of a man. Plus some, she thought. There had to be more of them in this wretched building. Pris wasn't sure she wanted to meet them, though.

She spun around in the chair a few times, still staring at the ceiling. Her cherry hair fell behind her softly.

"Eughhhhh..." Pris mumbled. She looked at the clock hanging on the wall behind her. It read about noon. She sat back upright, all the blood rushing to her head. Her vision fogged over for a moment, leaving her dazed. She figured it was a good time for a lunch break, and decided to go looking for Murdoc; but not before leaving a note on the desk saying "looking for Murdoc, be back shortly, I hope."

Pris started down the hallway he had disappeared into four hours earlier.

"Murdoc? You here?" She called out every so often. The place was all sorts of dingy, ceiling tiles broken and falling like chemical snow onto her hair. Cobwebs hung from the corners like grey wisps of cotton. After walking for what felt like an eternity, Pris came across an ajar door, light flooding the hallway from its cracks.

"Murdoc?" She said while hesitantly pushing the door open. Upon looking inside though, Murdoc was no where to be found. A large man sat in the corner of the again, cluttered, room. He was stitching something together, the clutter being stuffed parts of a multitude of animals and other bizarre objects. He turned to face the lost girl. His chocolate skin gleamed with sweat in the artificial light.

"Hm?" The man rose an eyebrow at her. He figured she was another one of Murdoc's play things. "Muds' in the car park, little girl." He said in a heavy New York accent. Pris almost found comfort in the familiar, albeit scary, voice.

"Thank you. I'm uh, the new secretary." She threw a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the lobby. "Are you from New York? Sorry, the accent is so familiar." Pris stumbled and leaned against the doorway. Sure, the heavy man scared her, his white orbs of eyes boring down on her, but he was the only bit of home she could find in this place.

"Yeah. The city. I'm Russel Hobbs. You?" Russel set down his tools and put his hands on his knees, full attention on the small girl.

"Pris. I'm from upstate, but we traveled to the city a lot. I've got family down there."

"Nice." He huffed.

"Yeah. Well, I've gotta go find Murdoc. I'm starving, and he never told me when is could take lunch, so here I am." Pris gestured to herself.

Russel chucked. "Alright, Pris. See ya round." He waved her off.

Pris left, returning the door to it original position, slightly ajar. She was happy to have met Russel, he seemed like a really nice guy. At first she was sure he was going to gobble her up like a cookie, he was so intimidating.

The now re-motivated girl jogged back to the lobby; she remembered seeing a directory by the elevator.  
After reading the directory she had remembered correctly, Pris took the elevator down to the basement were the car park resided. The thing felt like it was going to fall apart, its lights flickering with exposed wires. Pris was sure she'd end up dead on the thing, crashing to the very bottom of the blasted Kong building.

But rest assured, she stepped off safely into the car park with a crackly ding from the elevator. Pris looked around, seeing quite a mix of cars and car parts. They ranged from expensive looking to cheap junk piles to absolutely bizarre. Eventually her eyes landed on a beat up Winnebago, it's back end reared right up against the concrete walls. The door adorned a sign the read "F OFF!" - surely this was the only place Murdoc would decide to take up in a car park. Unless he was working on the junk cars, which seemed unlikely.

"Murdoc?" Pris knocked on the crooked door.

A loud grumbling came from inside. She figured it was the ornery man.

Pris took a few steps back just in time for the door to swing open, sending a just of air and blowing Pris's bangs into her eyes. She blinked rapidly before confronting Murdoc.

"What do ya want, ya beastie." He threw a cigarette occupied hand up in her direction.

"Uh, I was wondering when lunch was?" Pris asked nervously.

"Oh for christ's sake," he leaned foreword and grabbed Pris by her jacket arm. "'Get in."


End file.
